


The Undying Light

by Darkest_Day



Series: Having it All [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Can't take it back, M/M, Moving On, References to Suicide, Resurrection, Years of Solitude, ghost POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkest_Day/pseuds/Darkest_Day
Summary: Everything, down to his last breath, was calculated and deliberate. This wasn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This work opens with descriptions of a body decaying. It's not super detailed or descriptive by any means, but CRTL+F down to: 
> 
> “The days started” to avoid the worst of it, or 
> 
> “The City fell" to avoid vague mentions of decay.

Static. Low, steady, constant. It didn't waver and it didn't change; it was simply there. The trickle of Light was slow and weak, but it was coming back to her little by little. That last little ember she was looking for hadn't gone out quite yet, it was still somewhere close to her. It was all darkness until vision flickered on but everything looked like a cracked screen, blocks of pale static drifted across an entirely black reading. Pain. She was small and there wasn't a lot of surface area to register pain but an awful lot of it hurt. Cracks were all over the pieces of her, fractures of her shell piercing into her centre. Then wetness, something cold and thick had been soaking into her for hours. She was tucked into something, trapped, confined. The only noise she could pick up was a buzz of feedback.

All she knew after that was dread.

Hours she lay there, unable to free herself, then noises overtook the buzzing and her encasement was being moved, she was becoming dislodged. She was sure to stay where she was even though her bone prison shifted enough to free her. She was jolted almost free when they dropped what held her, the other noises drifted off and it all faded back into static. An hour passed, she moved, letting herself drift free from him now that his ribcage had opened.

There was still some Light left within and there was enough still left in her that she could bring him back. But he was nothing more than a corpse with a hole in his chest that she'd been crushed into with coagulated blood oozing off of her. His ribs had acted as a shield, enough of them were already cracked and the pressure of her body against his had been enough to allow her to be pushed into the cavity, the rest stood strong enough to protect her from death. She wasn't supposed to have survived this. She floated above the body, looking intently through the haze of red and warning lights and static to see him, lifeless, just laying where he'd been thrown.

She cared about him too much to bring him back and to heal his broken body and give him life and Light again would be unkind. Every move he made had been calculated, every breath he took had been a struggle just to take his next. This was what he wanted at the end of it all. He wanted to be free from the whispers plaguing his mind, he wanted to be free from the grips of what was pulling him under. All of this was her fault, if she had been more careful he wouldn't have had to trespass so deep into the void. He'd done it to save her, she'd been caught in the claws and he had done what he had to do to keep her alive. Perhaps this was her punishment for doing this to him, survival while he lay dead and cold.

Unless this was another calculated action, unless his plan was to ensure her life wouldn’t be blinked out so she could continue on without him and find another Guardian, just like he kept telling her to do. She was his and he was hers. “ _I'm not leaving you,_ ” she vowed, speaking into the dull quiet of the room. Her voice was low and crackled and popped with every syllable. She drifted back towards him and settled into the folds of the scarf at his throat, against his fractured helmet. There was still Light in him, that faintest bit was all the comfort she needed and it was all the comfort she would ever get. Taniks could not drain the Light from a Guardian, he could only kill them and destroy their Ghost, and she could only stay here and wait for her own death to pass.

At a sign of movement hours and hours later she retreated back into the cavity of his chest and hid, it wasn't Fallen this time. It was all she could do to just stay still, immobile and hoping that he wasn't going to notice her survival. He didn't.

Cayde knelt beside the body, wound his arms around him and made softly whispered noises that were pleas and apologies and confessions to a man who would never hear them again. She didn't move. Cayde unwound the scarf from his neck, carefully opened the clasps that kept the cloak on his back and pulled it out from under him. She didn't know why she hadn't expected him to come, this is what hunters did. That old scarf Andal wore came from another before him, just not from another hunter, his mentor, a Voidwalker who taught him _how_ to use the Void and so much more. When he died Andal took the scarf that old Warlock wore and carried it to always remember that the void was no plaything. Because of her, he had forgotten those lessons. When Cayde retreated he left fire and flames behind him, she got clear from the body and watched the fire consume the room and the collection of trophies gathered from those Taniks murdered.

The Fallen put out the fire after an hour of work and scavenged what they could, they left the rest of the charred remains there and dimmed the lights and abandoned the room. She floated over to what was left of Andal and nestled in the place between jaw and shoulder, now barely recognizable. In that moment, she was grateful for the Exo's effort. The fire hadn't taken him completely, but it had disabled Taniks from mutilating his remains for a trophy to put on display.

The days started to slip away but time was meaningless here. There were no windows and the lights never dimmed any more than they already had. Sometimes the ketch would move but she remained where she was, ever vigilant and watchful. Sometimes she could pick up a transmission somewhere in the distance. She wasn't trying, she didn't want any idea of how much time was passing. The crackling never faded from her vision, everything she heard was still muddled by the low hum. Sometimes she'd catch a friendly voice coming through the comms, one she knew, and that was enough for her. Sometimes she played music and drudged up her own memories of quiet moments between Ghost and Guardian.

Weeks were passing and rapidly turning into months, and still, she stayed here with him. With no sense of a day and night she began to lose track of how long it had been. Her internal clock went ignored, she stared up at the ceiling as the body turned to dry remains and bones, she would watch that last pale Light inside him until the sun burnt out.

Years, maybe decades, she had not left his side. She only stayed there, looking around the dull room. But she was okay with this nothingness, sometimes she thought she might revive him, it had been long enough _maybe_. She never did and she knew she could still bring him back and that was the one small comfort she could take from this. So long as she could still feel that bit of Light in him, she would never leave him. So when something began to feel strange, she roused from her spot. The Light in the body was flickering, her own connection to it felt stunted. With no connection to the outside world for this long, she didn't know what was happening out there, she didn't know what was changing. Panic - potent and distressing. The Light left in him was struggling to stay alive, she hesitated. If his Light was about to die, she wouldn't be able to bring him back again.

When that last remaining blink of Light began to dwindle she tried to revive him, she couldn't risk losing her connection to him forever. But the Light was punched out of her and she hit the metal floor hard, knocked from the air with the stark loss of it. When she came to, the Light in him was gone and her connection to him had been severed. She couldn't cry, she was just a little Ghost, but she shouted with a voice that wavered and snapped through broken speakers. Defeated, she let herself fall from the air and onto the ground again, shutting down her vision and just laying there, waiting. She'd promised she wouldn't leave him, but she always had his Light waiting for her just in case. Now it was gone, she could never revive him and that connection was _gone_. Why did she hesitate? Why couldn't she have just revived him when she first felt that shift?

This was the first time she wanted to be seen or exposed. But the rest of the ketch was empty; Taniks had been hunted down and killed long ago. She was alone and her Guardian was beyond her reach. She ached and she kept trying, desperately, to bring him back. Her Light was gone. Helplessly, she searched the signals for something, anything, that might be able to help. The entire comm network was dead.

Two days later, transmissions started to leak through. The City was being evacuated. The City fell. The Light was gone.

Hours or maybe days later there was another broadcast. Coordinates. The transmission was weak and it took a few rotations of it to hear the full message. A safe place on Earth, a haven for anyone who needed safety. In all these years she had been here she had never thought about leaving her Guardian behind. But all these years there had still been that security that she _could_ bring him back one day. Now that option was gone, there was nothing left here and she had no reason to stay guarding over some bones. “ _Andal?_ ” She asked the old bones and ash, “ _I know you can't hear me. I'm so sorry I didn't bring you back before the Light.. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Andal._ ” She floated over to him again and settled against his remains, everything felt dull and she was so used to the static and her flickering vision she didn't notice it anymore, it was all silence. “ _There's nothing left of you. But I know this is what you wanted. You're gone and.. I can never bring you back. I've waited here for years, will you forgive me for leaving now?_ ”

But the corpse did not move and could not respond, she floated away from him, slowly. There was nothing here for her anymore, it was a dead body on a dead ship and she was half dead herself. So she finally made the decision to leave after all these years of waiting there with him. The first time she got out into the open air she second-guessed herself as the natural light burned her lens and darted back to his side, unable to gather the strength to leave him yet.

Reckless and uncertain if it was a death wish or a confidence that she wouldn't be noticed, she hopped aboard another ketch of scuttling Fallen preparing their numbers. He was left on the moon and she wouldn't forget, she could never forget him. She darted from the ketch when it landed on Earth, dodging bullets as she went. She tried to catch the broadcasts, tried to follow them but she kept listing off course and her sense of direction seemed permanently addled. She was avoiding enemies that shot at her as she started her journey, but hopelessness began to settle in and she stopped avoiding them but their aim wasn't exactly enough to take her out. She was a small target tarnished by years of old blood and ash. Time meant nothing, she kept travelling over the land. As that transmission started to come in clearer she continued to follow it, and eventually the Farm was in the distance. She hadn't seen anything trying to shoot her down for miles but she barely had the will to keep going. What was she if she didn't have him? What was she supposed to do?

The Farm was a small village, clusters of buildings or homes nestled into the rolling landscape all filled with so many unfamiliar faces. No one gave her a second look as she drifted along the hills and weaved out of reach from everyone. There were Ghosts here, too, they huddled in groups together without their Guardians, like her. Perhaps there would be some solace here, but what good was a Ghost without a Guardian? She was distracted, observing the scene near an old mill and a building with a run down ship in it when she noticed a woman standing near her, she wore heavy cloth on her shoulders. She reached out her hand and she darted away like a terrified animal, hiding under a cluster of broken branches and plants. “Hey, hey,” the woman said, squatting down and holding out her hand. “It's okay, it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you and I'm not here to hurt you, okay? You're in pretty rough shape, Ghost, couldn't help but notice you. I'm here to help.”

She stared at the offered hand, it had been so long since someone had spoken to her she didn't know what to do with herself but she recognized that voice. Terrified and uncertain she looked between the girl's face and her hand. Narrow nose and big clear eyes and a look of concern. She remembered Andal offering his hand for her, she remembered all the times Amanda had offered her hand, she remembered Cayde running his finger in that old scar left over from the first tangle with Taniks and found herself slowly drifting over to hesitantly settle into her hand. The comfort of being held was unlike anything she'd felt, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be handled. “There you go.” The stranger said soothingly as she started walking and she stopped watching or caring about where they were going, one hand under her and the other cupped protectively around her. There was no reason to trust her but at this point there was nothing else left. Dimly, she realized this was the voice broadcasting all those signals, that's how she knew that voice. This was the voice she'd been following all this time.

She was placed onto a thin table and mourned the loss of the hand, but she was pulling off her gloves and setting them to the side and grabbing a needle. “Don't be scared.” She soothed as warm fingertips settled on one piece of her shell. The sharp point of the needle was dragged over the cracks in her shell, scraping out the long dry gore stuck in there. After a moment, she stood, “hold on, okay? I'll be back soon.”

The stranger wasn't gone for long, she came back with a dish of water that steamed and a few rags. She sat down again, returned warm bare fingers to her shell and got back to work, swiping the corner of the rag over each part she cleaned. She just sank into this careful detailing. “Is this blood?” She only looked away, dimming her lens. “Hey, it's okay. You look like you've been through a hell of a lot more than just what happened in the City.” But she said nothing in return, lens still dimmed, the stranger kept working. One of the pieces of her shell had been embedded into her core, she couldn’t move it, the stranger began her gentle cleaning to unstick that part.

“You can call me Suraya. Or Hawthorne, whichever you'd like.” The quiet had gone on for so long but she hadn't stopped.

“ _Suraya_.” She murmured, voice crackling.

“Ah, so you can speak. Here I thought you might have been mute.” Her voice had a touch of fondness to it. “There are a lot of other Ghosts here without their Guardians, you can stay here. It'll be safe.” She made an unhappy buzzing noise when Suraya got to cleaning the grime from her centre, under where the piece had been glued to her, but didn't move and allowed the touch. It was gentle, she was wiping the damp corner of a cloth over her lens. “You'll be okay here.” Her reassurances were repeated quietly between them. When the stale old years had been washed clean she didn't feel any better. Her Guardian was lost and she had nothing left. It would be easier to just let something gun her down. All the noise was overwhelming, when Suraya cleaned her hands she stayed on the table rather than moving. “I'll be back tonight, okay? You can stay here, if you want."

Suraya left, but not without one last fond look. She returned as the sun set, took off her backpack and took off the poncho, then she reached over to her and picked her up again. She sat down on the bed with her in her hands and she tried not to remember all the times Andal held her. There was comfort in touch, comfort she had forgotten. “ _I've been alone for a long time._ ” She said, her voice was a little clearer now that the grime had been cleaned. “ _There's too much happening out there._ ”

“You can hide out in here if you want.” She said sadly, “but I'm going to get some rest. We almost had someone who was gonna help us out, but she ran off to the Vanguard instead of sticking around.” She sighed, laying down on the worn mattress, her hands resting on her stomach with her floating up into the air. The Vanguard? Her first instinct was to ask where so she could find them, her next impulse was to hide. They didn't need to know this part of the story, they didn't need to know she was here.

Suraya fell asleep after a little while, she hovered and waited and debated the action before she was finding a spot near her shoulder and settling into the comfort of a warm body. She could hear the soft sound of her breathing above the hum of static, laying beside someone who breathed and moved and _lived_ after so long of still dead air was overwhelming, she tried to still her shaking but it didn’t stop until Suraya rolled over and placed her hand on top of her, protectively.

Mostly she just hid here, staying in the confinement of a room rather than venturing outside. She still went out sometimes to see the survivors and watching more and more Ghosts gather by the day. She didn't think any of them had been alone for as long as she had. She could not find the words to help them through this, she didn't really know how she got through all of this. When the Vanguard made their unexpected arrival she hid in Suraya's room under the shelf behind a few books, terrified that they were going to find her. They'd ask her why she was here and how she survived and Andal didn't. She couldn't bear to tell them, why open old wounds like that? Why make them grieve for someone who was long dead? Why tell them now that his death had been his choice?

That night Suraya got down to her hands and knees and fished her out from her hiding spot and looked distraught that she had to do that, “ _please don't tell them I'm here._ ” She begged. “ _Please, they can't know about me._ ”

“Look,” Suraya started, her tone was firm. “I can keep your secret but you have to give me more information than that.” She was floating anxiously around the human, rotating until she snatched her from the air and heaved a sigh, sitting down on the bed again. “Calm down, you're safe here remember? If your safety is at risk I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” Her lens dimmed and she looked away, but remained captive in her hands willingly.

“ _Please don't make me say his name._ ” Quiet, that hum was becoming more prominent.

“Your Guardian? Fine, I won't.”

“ _He wanted to die._ ” She confessed, “ _I planned to die with him, but I didn't. I waited for a very very long time. I could have revived him, I stayed with him but when the Light—_ “ Her voice petered off into static clicks.

Suraya's eyes were wide. “How long have you waited?”

The light in her lens went out, closing it off so she didn't see. “ _How long has Cayde-6 been in the Vanguard?_ ” Silence. When she looked again the girl looked like she'd been dealt a blow to the teeth. “ _It would be too hard for them to know that he could have come back._ ”

“They won't know you're here.” She said, voice rough. "There's a lot I have to do, don't leave this room, okay? Stay here, wait for me, I'll be back." She left and a few hours later made her return, she told her that they were planning to take back the City. They had a plan and they were going to start tomorrow. If they won and the Light came back, maybe all hope wasn't lost yet. She couldn't bring herself to listen in to the Vanguard chatter throughout the next day, it would have been too much to hear all those old familiar voices again. Suraya returned in the evening, determination written on her face, she was leaving tonight.

“ _Suraya..?_ ” She started as she was preparing for the final battle. They were leaving in an hour. “ _Could you.. take me to the moon..?_ ” She asked, voice wavering, it was too much to ask but she couldn't get there on her own. “ _It's.. it's where he is._ ”

Suraya's gaze became firm and her voice had a bit of sharpness to it. “Are you going to just sit there and wait for him for another twenty years?”

“ _I don't know_.” She admitted.

“I'm not bringing you back there just so you can just keep waiting.” She said, her eyes were narrowed. “If he didn't want to come back, that's fine. But I'm not going to let you just waste away up there. I'm not okay with that.”

She went quiet, was it time to bring Andal back? She was still intact, her damage was mostly physical as far as she could tell, her sense of direction seemed flawed at best but everything else seemed fine. She wouldn't bring him back wrong and she could still bring him back with all his memories. But if his Light came back too, she couldn't just leave him there. Suraya was forcing her hand but she understood that the action didn't come from spite, it came out of concern. She'd wasted years upon years just waiting. “You're going to have to choose now. There's enough time for me to take you there but I'm not doing it if you're going to spend eternity there.”

She tried to drudge up a memory, Andal smiling at her with a smouldering roll of paper hanging from his lips. He grabbed her from the air and tucked her into his hood, warm and content, then he got back to what he was working on while humming to himself. Another memory, hunched over his desk with his knuckles pressed hard into his temples to ease the pain behind it. He let out a soft breath of air that sounded like a whimper, she floated to him and he opened one eye wearily. “I can't keep this up.” He admitted to her. “No matter what I do it doesn't go away, I don't want to lose my mind to this.” He closed his eyes again, face pinched in pain. “But I'm losing my will to keep fighting.”

She stared at Suraya, who waited for an answer. She wanted to bring him back, she wondered if she could keep the memories of his pain away from him, it was almost a sad thing that she hadn’t been damaged enough to lose his memories. The woman sighed, annoyed. “Okay, fine, you don't have to choose now. I'll take you. But I'm going to be back, okay? Once all this is over, I'm coming back to you and by then you have to have made your choice. Either you revive him if you can or you say goodbye.”

The ketch had fallen into disrepair, she hadn't even noticed how much the ship had degraded nor that the lights had all gone out a few years ago. She drifted out from Suraya's hood and turned to her, it hurt to be here. “I'm coming back as soon as we get through this.” She said, “promise you'll be here.”

“ _I will be here._ ”

Suraya left, she retreated into the ketch and made her way through it, back through the winding rooms to where she had left Andal. What was left of him still lay there, still with no breath of Light in him. She had waited many years already, she could wait a few hours for this all to conclude.

The Light hit suddenly and without warning, it washed over them in a shockwave of pure power and Light. It filled her, bringing back all the strength she didn't have anymore. The Light filled the body again too, she thought she could hear his voice whispering, thought she could feel the press of his palm under her, his thumb smoothing over damage to her core and some of the cracks to heal them. The Light was potent and she wasn't stupid, she'd known bringing him back would be difficult to do alone after so much time, but the Light was stronger than she'd ever felt before. Before she knew what she was doing, with the whisper of what she remembered his voice sounded like, she began to revive him. The Light was healing and erasing the static in her audio and her vision and Andal's body was piecing itself back together again.

* * *

 

Blackness. Floating in the dark. Nothingness. No touch, no smell, no sight, just dark. An infinite plain of emptiness. Then a spark; a jolt. Heat, life, a trickling stream of consciousness that felt heavy and seeped in, dragging away from the dark empty. A breath, air and touch and smell and sound and sight. A lonely ceiling above and air in his lungs. A Ghost above him and with shaking hands he reached out to her before he was aware he had a body, he pulled her to his chest and felt the press of her shell. Disoriented. It didn't make sense.

But the memories trickled into his head, Cayde, Taniks, pain, blood, his Ghost, the fight, the Vanguard, the reasons _why_. He sat up, head spinning, tearing the helmet from his head and running a hand through his hair, fingers dragging along his jaw and beard, cheekbones and eyelids and nose and through hair again. But his Ghost was in his lap, peering up at him, she was damaged but whole. “You were supposed to leave.” He breathed, his voice raspy and rattling and unfamiliar.

“ _I couldn't._ ”

“You were supposed to survive without me.” Panic rippling down his spine and he was in a daze and his head was foggy. Seemed like he'd just been dying and then he was waking up again but there was this odd sense of _years_.

“ _I'm sorry!_ ” Her voice wavered and trembled, “ _the Light was taken. I was here the whole time until my last connection to you was gone and when the Light came back I couldn't stop from bringing you back too!_ ” She spoke like she was scared of him being angry at her. Instead, he was just sad. The fog was clearing.

“How long..?”

“ _About the length of one Vanguard term.._ ”

“You've been.. waiting that long?” His eyes stung, he held her again. “You were supposed to survive, you were supposed to leave. You weren't supposed to stay.” Oh _no_ , she'd been here this whole time and she'd waited alone all those years. Decades. “I'm so sorry.” He whispered.

“ _I shouldn't have brought you back._ ” She nuzzled into his hands, he couldn't quite seem to wrap his head around the scope of years. He said nothing, he only held onto her and tried to assess what was happening now. He'd planned every last breath, he'd taken her to his chest because the last thing he could do for her was use his body as a shield to ensure her survival. He just hadn't calculated that she would wait here for him indefinitely. He had dealt her the worst hand he possibly could. He had doomed her to an eternity waiting beside a lifeless corpse. His head was clear and his chest ached, he’d never known sorrow like this.

“I have done you a great injustice.” He murmured. With great effort, he got up and stumbled into a wall, clutching it with one hand and holding his Ghost in the other.

“ _There's someone coming._ ” She said to him, “ _someone I met, she.. she brought me here when the Vanguard went in to take back the City. She said she wanted me to either revive you or.. leave you._ ” The sadness in her voice was thick, he stumbled along with one hand scraping the wall, she shone to light the way. “ _She wouldn't let me keep waiting._ ”

Out in the open air his eyelids burned from the sudden bright natural light and he crumbled into the dirt, he shielded his face and tried to blink past the pain. “What happened? The City needed to be taken back?”

“ _Suraya can explain it. I.. I didn't pay a lot of attention, I tried so hard to stay hidden._ ” He was confused, disoriented, but he patted his pockets and found himself letting out a dry choke of laughter because there was still one rolled bit of tobacco on him. The breeze through his hair felt refreshing, the air was cool, he put the end to his lips and lit the other side with less than a thought with a ball of Light that was much bigger than what he thought he gave it. The revival had mended his clothes, and apparently this too. Just like nothing had happened. Hours later a ship appeared in the distance and landed in front of them. His body felt heavy from years of decay and he was tired. The woman who climbed out had fierce clear eyes and a confident grin on her face. She had a firm look about her but spared fondness for his Ghost, who floated over to greet her. He didn't recognize her and she didn't recognize him, that worked for him.

“Would you look at that.” She teased, putting her hands on her hips. “A Hunter without a cloak. I thought you Hunters were nothing without them?”

“I've been dead awhile.” He hummed, “I expect an old friend might still have it. Though I do think I will need another, I can't very well be seen like this can I?”

She laughed, offered him her hand and he took it to stand up and got into her ship. He held his Ghost in his lap, she seemed eager to stay close to him and he wasn't going to deny her that. He would hold her for as long as they both lived if it meant it would make it up to her. He would never do this to her again, he would never force her to endure years upon years of solitude waiting for him. No matter how much he wanted his life to end, he would never force her into that role again, he rest his head on the cool metal beside him and just watched her. After a few minutes of contemplating his Ghost, he asked her what happened. She filled him in, the Cabal and the attack and the Almighty and their victory.

The Farm was quiet, quaint. He got out into the grass and scanned the area for anyone he recognized, he saw none. “What's your name, Hunter?” Suraya asked, leading the way to her workstation in a ruined building.

“Ah, I'm afraid I don't quite remember, love,” he lied. “Give it time, I'm sure I will.” She frowned at him and he didn't think she bought the lie, but she accepted it as an answer. She found him a cloak and tossed it at him. He took it and put it on, the weight on his back felt good. Made him feel a little more like he was himself again. The whispers hadn't started yet, the call wasn't there but it was only a matter of time. The colour of the cloak matched his clothes, started a thick leather almost to his shoulder blades and then heavy cloth. The cut was weird, higher on one side and longer on the other. He pulled the hood onto his head and bowed his thanks. “Thank you, for everything.” He said.

“It's not a problem.” She said. “I'm just glad your Ghost decided to bring you back. Take care of her.” She paused for only a moment. “But I can't stay here, the Vanguard is currently trying to set up the new Tower along the wall, the old one is about to collapse.” A ripple of pain swept through him. “And don't worry, I'm not going to tell them you're here. Your Ghost looked like a frightened animal when the Vanguard arrived, you're just lucky I've got a soft spot for fugitives.” She spared a small grin, it was better she thought that he had been removed from them by anything other than his own hand. “I'll keep your secrets, but I expect an explanation. Do you know how hard it was to get out of the rebuild right now? The only other person who got out of it was Cayde and he only got out of it was because he lost an arm, the lucky bastard.”

The mention of Cayde was a blow to the gut but his face remained passive. Cayde was still alive, suspected still a part of the Vanguard, but he had no way to tell if he was Cayde-6 or Cayde-7. “Lost an arm?” He asked, he kept the shake out of his voice but couldn't stop the note of concern.

“Yeah, there's still plenty of the City that didn't get destroyed, so they got him off somewhere to replace it.”

“An Exo, then.” He pretended to observe.

“Yes. He'll be fine.”

He nodded, his throat felt like it was closing. It had been so long, by now Cayde would have healed and moved on. For him, it seemed only hours ago he was promising Cayde that he would be okay without him, only a few hours before that he was kissing him goodbye. He still felt that potency with every breath he took. “Go find Devrim. He's in the EDZ right now, the church tower, he might be able to put you to work. Take one of my ships, if you want, you'll see them. You're a Guardian, we could use your help around here. But when I get back? You tell me what's going on.” How strange to be commanded like this, he liked this woman more and more.

She left, he began his exploration. He scanned the area for any signs of Cayde left behind and found whispers of him as if the walls held an echo of his voice. His chest ached, he put his fingers on the rusted metal in the barn, standing near a ruined rooftop. “He will never know I'm alive.” He said softly, looking at his Ghost. “If he finds out, it would ruin him.” He exhaled, letting his forehead touch the metal and letting it all wash over him. It was beginning to rain.

He began his journey to the EDZ on foot, he wasn't going to page ahead to whoever Devrim was, he didn't want to risk being heard. Time had probably dulled the memory of what his voice sounded like so there probably wasn't any worry, but he didn't want to take that risk. He found the church tower after half an hour or so of walking and let himself into it and breathed in the stale smell of wet grass and old wood. He climbed the pathway of wood and metal and got to the top where the man himself stood. He had grey in his beard and achy tiredness in his eyes, he was shouldering the rifle and pressing his back into the wall beside the window.

“Well, this is new.” The man said, an accent he recognized but couldn't quite place. “I've had a few Guardians come through here, had a lot of them yesterday when the Light came back. However this is the first time I've seen one soaked to the bone, helmetless, and looking like someone's just kicked his puppy.” His voice sounded, above the accent, kind. Andal held up his hands and let solar Light drift up his gear, steaming the rainwater from it. Strangely, it was concern that filtered over the man's face. “Sit down, Hunter, you look cold. I'll get you something to drink.” The area was small but he was well-versed in how to get around it and where to find everything.

Andal didn't sit, he stood at the window with his arms folded over his chest and watched the rain with his back against the windowsill. Beside him, he could hear Devrim speak to his Ghost. “You're the one Suraya told me about?” He asked. “The damaged Ghost scared of the Vanguard?”

He returned with tea, Andal took it from him but simply stared out the window. “Not a lot of Fallen out here today.” The other said, he had put his rifle against the wall and was sitting down on the floor, “they don't much like the rain.” The silence drifted between them but Devrim was pushing it, trying to see if he could get him to talk. “I like the rain, makes this dreadful place seem a little less vicious.” The only sound was the tapping of water, Andal remained quiet, he knew these tactics but he wasn’t ready to start talking yet. Eventually he brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Just when he started to think he was being awfully rude by staying quiet after taking the offered drink, Devrim cleared his throat. Andal looked at him. “What I've been wondering,” he started, setting his empty cup to the side, “is what exactly Vanguard did to you to cause your little friend here to get so scared.”

He let out a dry laugh that sounded more like a cough. Suraya was kind with hard edges and he didn't know her, his Ghost trusted her and that was enough for him to trust her but he didn't feel so inclined to talk to her about any of these pieces of him yet, it was all too fresh. Something about the look in this man’s eyes and the way he held himself seemed to echo something in himself. “It's not what they did to me.” He answered, “it's what I did to them.”

“And what did you do to them?”

“I died.” He sighed, his hands shook. “And my death trapped someone I cared about in my old title, and I still don't know if I saved him or not. Tell me, Devrim,” he turned his tired eyes to the man. “What is Cayde's number?”

The man only stared at him for a moment, trying to put the pieces of what little he knew from Suraya and why he asked together. “Six.” He said, finally.

Relief washed over him like a crash-landed ship and his knees buckled, the mug fell from his hands with a clatter and the drink spilled as he slid to the floor with his hands over his eyes. He was coming undone, shaking and trying to catch his breath. “All this wasn't for nothing,” he nearly choked on his words. “It worked” in just a whisper of relief. He felt the press of his Ghost against the back of his hand but couldn't bear to look at her.

“Does Cayde fill your old title?” Devrim asked, his tone had changed, shifted into something that felt less like kindness and more like understanding. Andal tried to compose herself, sucking in air and tilting his head back against the wall and letting his hands fall into his lap.

“He does.” He rasped, his throat felt dry.

“You were the Hunter Vanguard, then.” He said. “Do forgive me, my memory is a little bit hazy on the Vanguard history. What is your name?”

He hesitated, he looked at his Ghost then he looked at Devrim. Eventually, he mustered the courage to speak, to confess. “Andal Brask.” His voice was quiet.

“Well, Andal Brask,” he said, offering him a hand. “It's a great pleasure to meet you.” Andal stared for a moment before he put his hand into his and he offered a weak smile to his kind one. “Just so you know, Suraya is going to ask me what we spoke about. What am I telling her?”

Andal felt wrecked, his insides all scraped clean. “You can tell her whatever you'd like.”

“Ah, good, I was hoping you would say that. She has a knack for squeezing every last detail out of me. There's no lying to that girl.” The corner of his lips quirked into a smile. Andal wanted to get into the City and find Cayde and pick up where they left off. The whispers weren't in his head, the call wasn't there. It would return, he knew that, especially the next time he tried to use the void. For the time being he didn't have to think about it. “My next question is if you plan on going back.”

“I couldn't.” This time his response was quicker, less hesitantly, no matter how many times he thought about it or wanted it, there was no going back. “It's been too long.” He sighed, casting fingers through his hair, the hood falling off his head. “He already would have moved on. It wouldn't be fair to just show up again and expect to have him back after what I did.”

“Seems like you practise a lot of self-sacrifice.” The man observed. “What is it that you want?”

He exhaled, pressing the back of his head against the wall. He wanted to just stop. If his Ghost hadn't been so dedicated, so intent on never leaving him he would still be lost to death and she would be with someone else. “I'm not so sure if I want to keep going.” He admitted quietly, voice almost lost in the sound of the rain. His Ghost drifted over to him and he opened his hands for her. “But that means she dies too.” He rubbed his thumb over one of the cracks in her shell. “She waited for me all that time. I owe it to her to try to stay..” he broke off, uncertain if he should finish his thought or not. She looked up at him and he looked down at her.

Devrim was quiet, he was fiddling with something Andal wasn't watching. The snap of the lighter caught his attention, and knowingly Devrim pulled out another and handed it to him, he took it gratefully. “I know how that feels.” He confessed. “I talk a big game, I still say his name and I still talk like he's back home waiting for me. Easier than facing the truth of it, but I know it's not what I ought to be doing.” Devrim was scrubbing up old memories that Andal didn't expect to bear witness to. “He was my partner for as long as I care to remember, he died a few weeks back. I guess in a way I was glad for the fall of the City, gave me something else to concentrate on. But, as these things do, it all starts to slow down eventually and I'm left to my thoughts. I've spent many nights on that couch under that window, more than I'd like to admit.”

It had been only a day or so in his head since he had seen Cayde. The ache of missing him was unbearable, but knowing that he has had the years to mend and move on was worse. Selfishly, he wondered if he could step in again, he wondered if he could resume his old spot next to him, he couldn't stop thinking about that possibility even if he wasn't going to do it. He sat there with the Ghost in his palm and his forearms on his knees, letting everything wash over him. Ultimately, it was better that nobody knew that Andal Brask was alive again. He wished he had stayed dead, but knowing that his Ghost had waited, he regretted it. If he hadn’t known, would she have stayed there until the world finally ended?. Seemed like he had nothing left but regret.

The rain didn't let up, eventually he moved from the window because the Fallen outside were getting restless and Devrim wanted to take a few shots. He wanted to sink down into the earth below and stop thinking entirely. For now, he would persist, he didn't have any other options. When night fell he prepared himself for the walk back, he took his time, trying to find some peace in the rain washing over him. When he got back Suraya was there, she didn't ask him any questions and he didn't provide any answers, he wondered if she had been filled in already or if she was confident she would have it soon. “Looks like I'm going to be heading to the City for awhile, I came here to collect some things. Guardians were staying here but most of them have gone back to the City. Picking up right where they left off.” She almost sounded bitter about it. “Just over that hill are all the buildings, take one if you plan on staying. Anything with an open door means it's not taken. I've got a couple extra ships, you can have one if you want, just not the yellow one. I'm sure you'll be off soon, every other Guardian leaves.”

“I have nowhere else to go.” He said, she smiled at him.

“Stay in contact with Devrim, he can guide you. Looks like I'll be too busy to be here that often.”

She left and he made the short walk to the clusters of old buildings and walked aimlessly through them. With the rain and the night most had gone to sleep already, but most doors were open so he chose one at random and closed the door behind him. He flicked on the lights and held some solar Light to warm the room. It was a single-room setup with a door that led to a shower and a toilet. It was old but it was clean. The walls were mostly bare and the shelves were empty. A table stood in the middle of the room with two chairs and the bed was small and tucked under a window. They had said the Traveler was awake, he could tell that by the accidental fireball he had Lit earlier. His ability to manipulate it was potent when he tried it, he could hold balls of flame around him like Ikora could without even thinking about it. He was even more impressed with her as he sank down onto the thin mattress and put his head into his hands.

He was too tired to sleep, he lay in bed on his side with his Ghost tucked under his chin, tips of his fingers petting the smooth metal of her shell, a piece of her that wasn't damaged. She played him music, she was still damaged and her audio was a little fuzzy but he enjoyed the gesture too much to tell her to stop. So for awhile, he just existed. He woke up in the morning and smoked out the window and watched the wet grass and the children playing in the mud. He left the building and began to walk, looking around for anything that he might find useful, or anything that might fill the emptiness in him. Instead of finding anything, someone found him. “Please, Guardian, can you help me?” A girl no older than seven was peering at him. “Mum says we can't climb the trees, but all my balls are up there and the cat's just gone up chasing something.”

He offered a tight smile and followed her to one of the large trees, then got to work on getting everything down. A little bit of arc in the branches loosened the various items stuck within them. And with more strings of arc Light he coaxed the cat along the branches as it tried to attack the little bolts of it, and when it was low enough he hauled himself up a branch or two and scooped the animal up in his arms and brought it back down. It had its claws dug into his clothes in fear but loosened them when he passed the cat over. There was a group of children here, eagerly retrieving their lost items and resuming kicking them around. One of the parents walked over to him, a smile on her face.

“Thank you.” She said. “They've been nattering at me for a long time to go get their balls but I just couldn't find the time to do it, when the cat went up she panicked and went running for anyone who could help before I could stop her.”

He offered her a smile, one that didn't feel so forced. “It's not a problem.” He said. Maybe he would be okay here. Maybe he could find something to hold onto. He made the walk to the EDZ again and found Devrim, the man looked like he hadn't slept since he had last seen him, but Andal hadn't either aside from drifting off for maybe an hour or two. He only had one gun left on him and thought that maybe he should get back into crafting his own. He just couldn't seem to summon up the energy to do that, so he just sat with his back against the wall.

“You seem a bit more cheerful today.” Devrim observed, holding his gun out of the window.

“I'm not.” He said was a low laugh. “I've just stopped feeling anything.”

It became a routine, from there. Through Devrim he got his own supply to smoke and tried to tinker with his gun with no real intent behind it, thinking back to his sniper. He missed that thing but he suspected it was gone now. Gone like most other things in his life. He'd spent so much time stationary in the Tower, only leaving here and there for missions or training exercises that he was used to staying in one place. He didn't know what it was anymore to have the wilds completely open to him with no one there to dictate what he could or couldn't do. With Devrim's help they figured out and tested voice encryption, making sure that he was unrecognizable so he could keep in contact with them.

He was up early, the children were playing outside and shrieking into the morning and he listened to the sounds of joy listlessly, absently rolling a Fallen bullet between his fingers. “ _Transmission from Suraya._ ” The Ghost said, floating to him.

Encryption on, his voice didn't sound like his at all. “Hello, Suraya.” He greeted, he still dropped his voice a little lower despite his confidence in their programming.

“ _Hello, Hunter._ ” She started, “ _look, I'm with Ikora right now and we are heading back to the Farm for some data collection, would you be so kind as to ensure it's all still where I left it?_ ” He knew nothing of any data she may be talking about, but he understood what she was saying. It was a warning. Ikora was going to be here and it felt like he'd taken a cannon to the chest.

“Consider it done.” He replied. He cut off the communication and found one of her ships, he moved quickly. He got in and took it to the EDZ. He climbed the path to the church tower, Devrim offered him a nod when he arrived. He tried not to think about Ikora. “How often do you get off Earth?” He asked.

Devrim gave him a weary smile. “I barely leave this church, Andal.”

“Seems like an old friend is on her way here and I think it's a good idea for me to get away for awhile. Did you want to come with me?” He tried not to hinge his voice too much on the near-desperate need to have someone come with him. He wasn't nervous to go out into the wilds alone, not by any means. He knew he could handle whatever was out there just fine. His concern lay in what he might let himself succumb to out there, there were a thousand ways for a Guardian to lose everything and if he wasn't careful he would plunge himself into something both he and his Ghost couldn't come back from. If he wasn't alone, he would have someone to talk him down if he felt himself slipping.

Devrim seemed to pick up on that, or he was simply interested in the idea. “I suppose there's no harm in taking off for a little while.” He agreed, “where did you have in mind?”

They went to Venus, towards Zirka just off the Sedna Sea. A hilly little island filled with grass and trees and more ruins of the Golden Age. There were Vex structures here too, but it was hard to find anywhere that was safe from the Vex. They climbed a hill and sat at the top of it in the bright light of the day until a drove of Dregs on pikes came rolling in. “You say you're a good shot.” Andal challenged, trying to muster up some of his old hunter ways. “See if you can't hit that middle Dreg, smallest of the group, right in the chest.”

“Ah, that's no trouble,” the sniper responded with a small grin. He lay on his stomach in the grass and angled his gun, waiting for the Dreg to get in position. When he fired, the Dreg went a bit sideways and the rest got into a frenzy, uncertain where the shot came from. “Your turn, see if you can hit the same one. Left ankle.”

He took the gun from his friend and found his wounded target and waited. When he squeezed the trigger the Dreg lost his foot and collapsed off the Pike in a heap, dead. Andal completed every challenge Devrim gave to him, and Devrim completed every challenge he offered him too. “Seems like I've met my match.” He said approvingly, they'd picked off every last one of them and left a group of abandoned Pikes and dead Fallen in the sunny grass, the distraction of it was somewhat refreshing. It seemed like the first time in a long time his mind was occupied with something other than the darkness of all he had done.

“I could say I've met mine,” Devrim responded. “Guardians are good, don't get me wrong. But some of them couldn't shoot their way out of a paper bag.” Andal found himself smiling at the comment, Devrim looked content. They had their elbows in the dirt and passed the rifle back and forth, showing off. Letting hours pass just laying there. He kept wondering what Ikora would do if she found out he was still alive. She couldn't know the truth, not this time, but it was also Ikora - if she set her sights on finding him, she would. He would just have to be careful and continue counting how many times both Devrim and Suraya had his back.

His Ghost buzzed suddenly, both of them looked at her curiously. “ _Oh, ow_.” She griped. “ _Suraya's on the line. I didn't know she could get that loud._ ”

Encryption on, he said, “Suraya?”

“ _Is Devrim with you?_ ” She demanded.

“Yes, he is.”

“ _Oh thank fuck!_ ”

“Language!” Devrim scolded kindly.

“ _Don't even start that shit with me, old man, you never leave that church and when I went to find you after Ikora left you weren't anywhere to be found._ ”

“Oh Suraya,” Devrim cooed. “Worried about me, were you?”

“ _Yes._ ” Her voice was firm and sharp. “ _Thought maybe you decided to bite the big one on me._ ” The bitterness in her voice was obvious.

Devrim stiffened. “No need to worry about that, I've got my Hunter friend with me.”

She huffed a melodramatic sigh that reminded him of Cayde when he took too long to finish his work when he wanted his attention. “ _You'll be happy about this. There's going to be an influx of Guardians out there soon. They're calling it 'faction rallies', they're going to use it to increase supplies and stomp out some threats. And hunter? You're going to have to change your look. You look awfully similar to a certain Vanguard I know, just kept forgetting to mention it. Guardians can be blockheads but anyone with half a brain is going to start asking questions._ ”

“Duly noted.” He responded gently. Cayde still wore the gear he'd given him, it felt like he'd taken a bullet to the teeth.

“That is good news, thank you Suraya. We should be back there soon, just give us a little longer out here.”

The conversation was over, Andal poured over his options. He would need to find something else, he was too recognizable. He might even have to take to wearing a helmet, despite his firm interest in not wearing one. He didn't even own a helmet anymore, he'd left his old one on that ketch, uninterested in the reminder of dust and ash drifting in through the crack that had once been across it. Devrim offered to join him on his journey, he suggested the City because he knew a few places and had enough clearance to come and go as he pleased. He steeled himself for this trip, taking in a readying breath to prepare himself. They stopped back at the Farm first, Devrim went into Suraya's home and grabbed a large heavy cloak. It was thick and long in deep dark blue. It hung low over his head when he put it on and it draped over his shoulders, it almost entirely covered him. It had been so long he didn’t know what businesses may still be around, there never were a lot of Guardian outfitters within the City. Devrim seemed confident that there was one. He should be able to find something sufficient there. He still had plenty of glimmer, his ship may have been lost to the years but the glimmer wasn't.

As they neared his old home he thought he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the Traveler. It was more damaged than it had ever been. Pieces of rock and stone orbited around it in giant rings, large chunks of it broken off and hovering with a pale white light shining out from all its fractured pieces. It was tragically beautiful. The second beat that his heart skipped was the sight of the ruined Tower he had once called his home. It still stood but it was burnt and gutted and battered by explosions. He didn't dare go there, even though he so desperately wanted to. It was too close to the Vanguard for him to even think about it.

The City was bigger than he remembered, it was brighter too, the buildings were taller and there seemed to be more activity than he’d ever seen before. Large portions of it were damaged from the battle, what hadn’t been already repaired was surrounded by scaffolding as the people rebuilt. He took in the sights, it was early evening and the lights were getting brighter.

They landed outside the City and set out on foot, as they walked the path to the doors in the wall Devrim planted his hand on Andal's back. “Crouch,” he instructed. “Walk a little slower, make it look like you're hurt.” So he did, changing the way he walked with his knees bent and his head bowed, every so often he'd add a slight stumble to his step and Devrim would steady him, just to continue the ploy.

They let them in just fine, and once they were clear Andal straightened but kept his hood low over his eyes. He looked suspicious, no doubt, walking with his eyes covered and his body concealed. It seemed they'd done a good enough job at making him look like a weary traveller, though, not many gave him a second glance. It was hard to walk these streets, it was even harder to look at them and realize he barely recognized them anymore. But despite so many parts of it tormented by destruction, it still smelled the same.

It didn't take long for them to find something, he chose quickly because he just wanted to get out of here. The new gear was bundled up under the cloak and their exit from the City was quick, they'd spent enough time here and he was burning to leave. It had taken a bit of smooth-talk from Devrim, but in the end he only had to drop the name Hawthorne and they let them leave. They got back to the Farm and parted ways, he only began to relax when he was alone. He had been so tense that whole time, coiled tight, afraid of being found. He didn't sleep much that night.

The next morning someone was knocking on his door just as he was fastening the cloak over his shoulders. A thick belt with cloth wadded up around his hips in a shocking red the same colour of those old markings he had on his cloak. It was all form fitting and detailed, belt at his thigh for a well-placed pistol, a long cloak in black and grey angles with that same shade of red detailing feathers clustered into the bottom corner. A knife in his boot, one tucked against his wrist, and another at his hip hidden in cloth. A scarf bundled at his throat for easy concealment of his mouth and nose, a wide lose hood he could pull down over his eyes to hide under. The scarf was tucked under his chin and the hood draped over his shoulders when he answered the door. Suraya took a few steps back to admire the new look.

“You know, I did like the whole space cowboy thing you had before, but this is much better.” Her expression then shifted to something a bit less happy. “Can I come in? There's something I should tell you.”

He took a step back and let her in, she folded her arms over her chest as she leaned against the little table in the centre of the room as he closed the door. “I've talked to Devrim, he thinks I should tell you too.” She sighed, looking at her boots instead of at him. “It's about Cayde.” She started, that alone got him worried. He dreaded what she was about to say. “And the fact that it looks like he's..” she broke off, looking up at him with something pained in her eyes. “It looks like he's about to shack up with someone.”

It felt like she'd thrust a knife between his ribs, he almost buckled at the words, he leaned against the door behind him. “Who?” He asked, his voice dry.

“You sure you want to know?” He could only bring himself to nod, he didn't think he could speak. She sighed again. “Another Vanguard. They're not out picking matching curtains or anything but, it's about to happen.” He watched her, waited, trying not to gather their names in his head. “It's Zavala.” She said finally.

Shakily, he walked to the bed in the corner of the room and sat down on it. All this time he'd still had half a hope that he could still have a chance, still swoop in and take him back. That little hope had been what kept him going. He'd been so determined, back then, to tell Cayde to move on. He just hadn't expected he would be alive again to live with that decision. He couldn't even complain, he knew Zavala and he knew that he was exactly the kind of person he had tasked Amanda to approve. “Thank you for telling me.” A numbness was sinking into him, he no longer had a place in any of their lives and this made it seem official; just like he had planned. Zavala was better than him anyway. Zavala wouldn't lie to Cayde like he had, he would lay down his life for him and he wouldn't trick him into anything. Andal had lied and manipulated the situation to force Cayde's hand and trap him in the Tower. It may have been to save him, but that didn't change what he had done. His intentions had still been _selfish_ at the end of the day. The truth of the whole ting was that Andal chose to give up, saving Cayde's life had been a happy consequence. He looked up at Suraya helplessly.

“You gonna be okay?” She asked gently.

“I wanted them to be happy.” His voice was low and cut with grief. “And if they are, I have no complaints.”

Hours after she left, there was another knock at his door. His Ghost was huddled up in his scarf, he hadn't moved much after Suraya left, but he got up and opened the door and retreated back to the thin mattress. He wasn't surprised to see Devrim, he expected that Suraya would send him here. “I thought you may have looked worse than this.” The man admitted kindly.

“This is what I wanted for him.” He replied, looking at him as he sat down next to him. Devrim had a bag over his shoulder he was pulling onto his lap, he opened it and handed him a bundle of cloth from it. He took it from him and examined the cut. “What?” He asked.

“Everyone needs closure, Andal.” He said with a bit of forced cheer in his voice. “You haven't seen him since you came back. It might be good for you to see him once more. Everyone can tell you he's okay but you won't know until you see him yourself.”

“He would know my Ghost.”

“Ah, there's a Ghost still around here without his Guardian. He's agreed to go with you if you wanted. I think that would do just fine.” He stood, took the cloth from Andal's hands and put the rest of the bag on the table.

A few days later he was sitting in the main part of the Farm on a bench overlooking the foggy lake. He'd been told very forcefully not to hide away, go get some sun, get some fresh air and live a little. This was the best he could do to obey. “ _Devrim_ ” his Ghost said, voice encryption on, he responded.

“Hello.”

“ _Hello, had you any plans to come to the church today?_ ”

A sigh, “wasn't sure yet. Watching the lake.”

“ _The lake does look rather lovely in the mornings. But on a more serious note, I think it may be best if you didn't come by today. There is a certain Vanguard on his way over here to do some field tests_.”

“Understood.” He muttered. “Thank you.”

He ended the transmission, he couldn't bring himself to say anything else and didn't want to hear any sympathies. But, later, he tuned in to Devrim's frequency and listened, the first note of Cayde's voice, his actual real voice with the same casual tone he always had to it, gutted him. It took everything he had to keep himself sane. He was in listen-only mode, but still did his best to keep quiet with his elbows on his knees and his knuckles pressed to his forehead. He sounded like nothing bad had ever happened to him, he had spent so much of his time with him, he had put so much into him. He listened until his Ghost cut him off. “ _No_.” She said to him, her voice trembled and this tone was so unusual for such a soft-spoken companion. “ _I'm not listening to you do this to yourself. You need to make a choice, Andal. Are you going to go and tell him you're here, or are you going to move on? You've been broken for weeks._ ”

He stared at her as she floated in front of him. The pieces of her shell clicked in unusual aggression but her voice betrayed her anguish. She circled around him but he said nothing, he stared off into the mist still lingering over the water. She nudged his cheek, he grabbed her gently but she squirmed out of his grip. “ _Andal! Answer me! I'm not letting it go this time. What is it going to be?_ ”

Everything he had done to bring him to this moment had been selfish. He'd done a damn good job at making everyone else think he was the self-sacrificing hero but he knew he wasn't. He knew what he was, he knew who he was, and he knew what he had done. He went through the old familiar motions of rolling dried herbs in paper and lighting the end with only a little push of Light. The smoke drifted around him, he stared through the curls of it, he knew his Ghost wasn't going to wait much longer before she pressed again. “I don't have a choice.” He said gently, looking back at her. “I can't let any of them know it was all a lie. I can't throw a wrench into his life.”

” _That’s not an answer, Andal._ ” Her voice shook. “ _You can’t say you don’t have a choice, that’s just what you’ve been telling yourself._ ”

He looked at her. “I lied to all of them.” His voice felt strained, it was hard to form the words. “I made you wait for me.”

“ _It wasn't a lie, Andal._ ” She responded, sadly, she bumped her shell against his knuckles and he opened his hand for her. “ _It's my fault you're here, I chose to stay._ ”

He gave her a small smile. “If I'd known you would refuse to leave me, I wouldn't have done it.” But he wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but he couldn't bear the idea of making sure she died with him. She didn't deserve to die from his decisions, but it didn't matter - he had made her suffer in the worst way. His biggest regret wasn't what he had done to all the people he cared about, it was what he had done to her. He would never forgive himself for what he did to her. They got the chance to heal, she didn't.

“ _You need to learn how to live without him_.” She said, he ran his thumb kindly over the most damaged piece of her shell.

”I know.” His voice barely a whisper, “for you, okay? I’ll..” she looked up at him, he sat back and tilted his eyes to the sky. “I’ll move on.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the moonlight, he started his hunt. He didn't take his usual route into the EDZ, this time he crept along the shoreline. He only had one gun, some knives, and his Light – he needed no more than that. This was a collection run, it was his own personal salvage mission. He'd started taking the last gun he had on him apart before he'd grown weary of the task, but it was time to start that again or it was at least time to try. He slunk through the shadows, unseen and unheard, to the back of a crowd of Fallen on the midnight prowl. His knife in his palm, he waited, using the reflection off of some broken window to eye his target. The Marauder didn't see his knife before he opened its throat and lifted its shock blades off its body.

The others didn't see his first kill; they saw his second. Another throat opened, a shrapnel launcher plucked from dead claws. They shot at him and he fired back, he threw an explosion of arc Light and when the last three were dead, he strode to the bodies and transmatted their weapons back to where he was saying. He supposed that now he should consider the one-room building his home, not just a temporary residence. He had nowhere else to go now and he didn't quite have the energy to walk the wilds like he had when he'd been given his second life. Being stationary was what he was used to, he spent an awfully long time at that Tower and grown used to that kind of life.

He came across two Psions and three Cabal and Lit his knives, the Light extended them and when he swung they turned to ash. The weapons that weren't burned up with them were transmitted, he continued his hunt.

When the moonlight broke into a new dawn he retreated to his room, his home, and admired the new collection. The weapons had been carefully arranged on the empty shelf or on the table until his Ghost had run out of room. He sat on one of the chairs and got to work on taking them apart, then got to his tinkering. He started on his worn out little pistol first, replacing pieces with Cabal tech and Fallen casing. He worked into the afternoon, ash in his lap and bare fingers stained with oil, the modifications on this one were simple enough, it didn't take him long to finish it. The next one he was going to build from salvage. He sketched messy designs on paper and smeared grease on the page. In the evening he gathered some of the pieces he would need and joined Devrim in the church tower and borrowed some of his tools. He didn't have the precision for tiny little screws with his fingers, Devrim had what he needed to get them done. He could generate his own heat with Light if he tried enough, it was messy but the technique worked and he could only improve from here. There was no use sleeping yet, he knew it was futile to even try.

So that's what he did, he let the weeks pass by until it started to get colder. It only took him a week to have three different projects on the go, it took him another to have one finished and a fourth in the works. He made pleasant conversation with his two companions whenever he was around them. Suraya took a lot of interest in what he was doing, and sometimes the two of them would work together in her shop if she had the time. She told him where she had found large collections of good materials and he sent himself out on salvage missions. She would help him or he would help her. But she didn't come around all that often so he just spent most of his time with Devrim. The room was cozy, he sat on the couch sometimes and worked on the floor behind it. Often when Guardians were on the prowl he would leave, dip down into the old cellar below them and bite his tongue and wait for Devrim to fire three shots in quick succession to let him know he was alone again.

In time he started to get a little more comfortable being seen by other Guardians. He was careful to keep his face hidden, he'd put a table nearby with a chair and used that as a more comfortable place to work on. He sat hunched over the workstation, but he allowed himself to be spotted by those who came and went, none seemed to bother him. Whenever he spoke he spoke a couple octaves lower than normal, but he didn't speak that often. His work was time-consuming and he needed the distraction, and it was nice to have that company. He still felt heavy and tired more often than not, the times he spent alone without anything to tinker with were still difficult. It didn't get any easier to hear their voices when Devrim joined the comms for a strike or a mission, the man had offered to wear headphones instead of playing their voices, Andal had told him it was okay. He was the visitor, he couldn't expect him to change for his comfort. Hearing their voices again was torture, but he didn't want to burden his friend.

Guardians took interest in what he was making, a finished revolver on the old wood of the desk spotted by one of them. The Guardian picked it up and he kept his head low but eyed the Hunter through the shadows that hid his face. “You selling?” The stranger asked.

“Get me a shock pistol, two slug rifles, and, ah, two boomers and it's yours.”

The Hunter returned by the end of the day, he handed the gun off to him. “New business venture?” Devrim asked, shouldering his gun. He eyed him, late evening sunset shining in through the window.

“Guess so.”

The weeks passed by and the occasional eager Guardian traded weapons they'd collected for something he'd put together. It didn't take long for him to have a collection to modify, it was less a miss-match of enemy equipment as he was given more to work with, it all turned to strange combinations that ended up working quite well. He was getting better, somewhere between solar and arc he'd found the right concentration of Light to melt pieces of tech together, he no longer needed to futz with little screws or clasps.

His prize was the long-range weapon he'd been working on for himself, not an exact replica of his old one – that one was too distinct for him to dare to recraft it – but it was close. It was ready for testing to see how it worked, it wasn't as long as his old one but it was larger than Devrim's. He was hoping it could act as a replacement. It was pouring rain and he knew the Fallen weren't going to be out in this but he was a little trigger-happy and itching to give this thing a test fire. All this work was the only thing that kept him distracted and he wanted something to die at the end of his sights for that first shot. That was assuming he'd aligned the scope properly. So he braced the gun in the window and watched, waited, Devrim was sitting on the floor near the window looking rather amused about this whole thing. Eventually, with no sign of movement out there beyond the rustle of leaves loaded down by rain, he huffed a soft sigh and set the gun next to his companion's. He sat down next to the man on the floor, raindrops peppered his hood and he wore the scarf under his chin. “I did tell you,” Devrim said kindly.

Andal's lips quirked into a slight smile. “You don't tell a Hunter 'I told you so'.” He pointed out. “They hate that, you say that to the wrong Hunter and they might challenge you to something you won't win.”

“Are you challenging me?” Devrim asked, amused.

“Seems like I'm a different breed of Hunter.” He admitted.

“That you are, my friend.”

They sank into silence, he was smoking away the wet afternoon and tinkering with a bit of glass that had once been an ether capsule in his hands. He'd been learning how to cut glass with just Light, the heat from solar melted the edges too much to make a fine cut and no matter how much he concentrated it arc was still too uncontrolled to cut straight. He could melt most metals with it, but glass was another challenge entirely.

“Andal?” Devrim said, breaking their comfortable silence, his voice was gentle and easy. He looked at his friend. “I do hope you can forgive me for this.” Andal gave him a confused look, Devrim sat up from the wall and turned to him. They'd been sitting close together, close enough for him to feel the heat of his leg near his. Devrim's calloused hand was sneaking into the warmth of his hood, fingers finding the spot just below his ear. He moved slowly to ensure that Andal had enough time to abort this little action that was about to change their entire friendship but he was completely frozen at the touch. The kiss was gentle, his mouth wasn't the hard metal plates he had grown to be so used to. Fingers were softer, his breath fanned out over his cheek. This _hurt,_ every last piece of him still belonged to an Exo who had nothing left for him. He told himself, firmly, that this was part of healing, it was another step to moving on. Devrim pulled away after only a moment, his thumb caught on the hair on his jaw tenderly before he retreated entirely.

“You're on that same sinking ship I'm on.” He said with this small sad smile on his face. “I'm far too tired to think about finding someone else, the last thing I want to do is go out and replace him, and I get the impression you know exactly what I'm talking about. That felt like betrayal, didn't it?” His laugh was bitter, sad, but he was putting his hand back into Andal's cloak, getting close again. “So if we're both going down, Andal, what's the harm in drowning together?”

His hand was warm, the fabric of his gloves was rough but his fingertips were calloused bare skin. Andal let out a breath that could have been a halfway to a laugh. He brought one of his hands up to clasp the back of Devrim's loosely. “Beats going under alone.” His voice was rough, he was nervous.

Devrim pressed their foreheads together and Andal aligned their noses. The second kiss started slow too, both of them careful not to push the other too far. Andal moved his hand off of his and hesitantly put it on the other man's collar. None of this felt familiar, this man was not made of metal that stayed firm when he pressed, his mouth yielded to him when he wordlessly asked for it instead of that old familiar limited movement. It did feel like betrayal. It ached.

His breath shook as he tentatively brought his fingers up along his jaw, stroking the greying beard experimentally. He was doing his best to shake the idea that he shouldn't be doing this. He had no claim to anyone and no one had any claim to him, he needed to remember that. He was damaged and alone and he wasn't going to take back what he'd done, no matter how much he wanted to. Lips slid together, as each kiss ended another began, he tried to bite back the pain and swiped his tongue over his lower lip. Devrim shivered, his hand going deeper into his hood, fingertips found the back of his neck.

They were jolted apart by two loud beeps, his heart hammering in his chest and he shook like he'd been caught doing something wrong. Devrim sighed and Andal could see the panic rippling through him too, he was turning to look at the machine he used to access Guardian comms. “A message,” he started. “From the City, it looks like.” Andal sat back to catch his breath and it seemed like Devrim needed a minute too. He stood and tampered with the controls with hands that seemed to be working against him and let the message play. He wondered if this was a sign that he shouldn't be doing this, he couldn't help but think that it was.

“ _Hello, Devrim._ ” He could hear that small fond smile in her voice, oh how he missed Ikora. “ _We haven't had the time or the resources to properly plan this like we did last year, but after everything that's happened it doesn't seem right to skip it. We've been organizing our own little Festival of the Lost, we'd like you to join us. There's a room just off of the Bazaar, you'll know it when you see it. This time tomorrow, if you wanted to._ ”

If the interruption itself was a sign, maybe this was too. The Festival of the Lost was about celebrating those who weren't around anymore. Andal was thought to be dead and Devrim's partner was gone too, despite his efforts to heal he hadn't come very far. Maybe this man was what, or who, he needed to start actually healing, not just finding a thousand ways to distract himself. He looked at Devrim and Devrim looked back at him as he got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall with his fingers curled around a block of wood that helped board another window. He breathed the other man's name through gritted teeth and it was all it took to get him close again. He had his fingers curled around his collar as he pulled him in, his work forgotten. The way he trembled was like a shiver from some bone-deep cold, the way he held onto him felt desperate.

The closeness of being face to face with someone was a lot to handle, but it was _good._ Devrim kissed him with an open mouth and he responded. He sank into the sound of rain just outside the window and the hand in his hood and his heartbeat ringing in his ears. A few minutes with just the sound of their breath and the quiet slide of mouths there was a noise just beyond the window. The parting kiss lingered for just a moment. They remained close, he could smell the smoke in his own breath and Devrim's hand was warm on his cheek. “Looks like your kill has arrived.” He said.

Devrim was preparing to go to the City the next evening. His thoughts were muddled up with what he was going to do and Devrim seemed content to leave Andal to his own decision. It was time, he thought, as he watched the man prepare his ship. Their partnership was out of a mutual desperate plea to find something to hold onto so they could keep their heads above water. He didn't need to worry that his attachment to Cayde wasn't fair to him as the sniper stepped into his reach. He took the man into his arms and kissed him gently, trying to draw strength from him, or maybe just trying to find out how their broken edges fit together.

A few hours after Devrim left he tracked down a Ghost and asked him for help. He had programmed the voice encryption into the mouth of the helmet he'd been given weeks ago, and after a few short tests, he was confident his voice didn't sound like his own. He had to do this, and seeing Cayde happy with someone else would both destroy him and solidify that this part of his life was over and done. It would give him no choice but to move on. His Ghost watched with concern as he dressed in those loose-fitting robes. He didn't understand how anyone could fight with this much cloth weighing them down and nearly called the whole thing off when he caught his Ghost staring at him.

If he had to admit it, he was nervous. If he were honest, he was downright terrified. His ship was marked as a Hawthorne so there was no issue or question with his land at the Tower, he'd almost flown to the old one out of some habit that should have been long dead by now. This one was so much larger than the last, upon planting his feet on the floor he could see a number of broken sparrows and a whole area that simply looked like Amanda, he lingered there, scraps of notes and diagrams and tools she kept neater than he kept Devrim's. Near it was a cluster of maps, trinkets, bottles, and knives embedded into paper that all reeked of Cayde. He breathed slow, trying to control the nervous energy building up as Light under his skin, he tried not to linger in the empty section of the Hangar where two people he cared about had set up shop. He crossed the Courtyard quickly, the Ghost floated next to him. He got to the Bazaar, the door was ajar due to the Guardians spilling in and out of it. He had to throw himself into this head first or he wasn't going to do it, so he stepped into the dark room. The Light in the air tasted like Ikora, like honey and sandalwood and a warm breeze on some far distant star. Ikora had always felt like this, sorrow bubbled up in his throat. He admired the fluttering flames dancing over the ceiling as if they were galaxies, even with the amplification of the Light coupled with his own skill he couldn't create nearly as impressive a show as this. He wondered if anyone else knew this was her doing.

He found Devrim and made his way over to him in the dark room, he brought his hands up and Devrim grabbed his wrists, tightly. “Hu—Warlock.” He said, his voice low. They stood face to face, he was certain Devrim could feel the tremble in his bones, he hadn't even looked around the rest of the room yet. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

Andal responded in barely more than a whisper. “Moving on.” With his head still facing the older man, he let his eyes dart around the room. So many faces he knew, so many people he cared about, it was overwhelming. None of these people could ever know he breathed again. Amanda arguing with Suraya, Ikora deep in conversation with someone, and Cayde?

Cayde was nestled into the corner with Zavala, who was looking at him in a way that betrayed how he felt. His legs nearly gave out and arc began to ripple through him, he clamped it down. “Hey, hey.” Devrim soothed, his thumbs moved to press into the palm of his hands comfortingly. “Stay with me, just breathe. Nice and easy.”

There it was; his confirmation that these people were better off _without_ him. Cayde looked happy, he talked like he knew no pain. He tried to draw the Titan into him but the Titan put his hand on him to keep him away, then relented. Watching it was like dying all over again, his life, his love, had been given enough time to move on and _forget_ about him. Now, it was his turn to do the same. “Are you okay, Warlock?” The man in front of him asked, quiet. Arc was darting uncontrolled over his arms in bright little sparks in the darkened room.

“No.” He admitted, but this was all for the best and he was trying his best to find some comfort in that fact. He bowed his head to Devrim's, perhaps a little harder than he intended.

“You are wearing a helmet.” The man chided kindly, wincing, “best to try that without it next time.” He let out a short huff that might have been an attempt at laughter. His arc Light was dancing up around his fingers and he couldn't seem to haul it back. But he felt Devrim leaning his head into his in a way that felt like stability. The next thing he knew he caught a flash of blue lenses and Cayde was coming over to them. He pulled his head away and tried to retreat but Devrim held him steady. “I've got you, stay calm,” Devrim instructed in a breathless whisper, he tried to clamp down on the Light racing through him.

“Hey, who's this?” Cayde asked as he stood beside the two of them.

“A friend from the EDZ.” Devrim said cheerfully. His thumbs were pressing into his palms in a slow massage, he concentrated on the comforting pressure of it to keep his Light from sparking all around him. “Forgive him,” he said, soft clear blue eyes concentrating on him for a moment before turning to the Exo. “He's a strange one. Uncomfortable in crowds, doesn't like noise unless it's a handful of bullets. He had a bit of intel from the field for me.” Andal curled his fingers down over his thumbs gratefully. It was almost scary how easily this man lied. “Warlock, this is Cayde-6.” Devrim said as he turned his attention back to him.

He turned his head to look at Cayde so he could really get a good look at him. For him, it had only seemed like a few months since he last saw him. For Cayde the years had ticked onward. He looked the same as he always had, he still wore the gear he had given him so long ago. He recognized the cloak he wore as his own, it was a little more worn out than when it was his but it was well taken care of. He thought about what to say and how to say it. This was the last moment, this was his closure, with pain rocking through his bones he spoke. “Good to see you, Cayde-6.” His voice sounded mechanical and cut with unusual static, but his voice did not bend or break as he was faced with the one he had to learn how to forget. “But it's time to say goodbye.” He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to Cayde, but something shuddering in his chest was breaking free. “I need to move on.” This was it, the moment where Andal forced his own hand into breaking free from all of this. He took a step back as Devrim loosened his grip on his wrists, he mouthed the word 'slow' to him and Andal did his best to walk away like he was unhurried. He spared one final glance to Cayde, then he was leaving.

He got out into the Courtyard and yearned to remove his helmet and maybe start shouting into the sky, but instead continued on to the Hangar. Amanda's workstation had him pausing, the Ghost looked at him. “ _Whatever you're thinking, you probably shouldn't._ ” He advised.

“I know.” He responded, she had a handful of notebooks scattered over the metal desk, pens everywhere. He opened one of the books and flipped to the earliest blank page, he contemplated his fingers on the paper for a moment. Then he grabbed a pen with his still shaking hands, he knew he shouldn't do this. But this was all part of the process. ' _—you chose well_ ' was all he wrote. He missed her more than he could explain, he missed all of them more than he could even wrap his head around, but he couldn't keep his cover and offer any more goodbyes to any of them.

He got back to the Farm and thanked the Ghost, who just seemed happy to be of use to someone for a little while. He got back to his room and tore the helmet from his head and it clattered to the floor. He dragged his hands through his hair and paced, sucking in deep breaths of air as his chest tightened. He unwound the robes from his body and let them stay where they landed, the bulkier pieces of gear kicked to the corners. This was it, he'd seen what he had to and now it was time. In the quiet of the night he put his gear back on, the red and black and grey of the gear felt more natural. He was just knotting the scarf around his neck when his Ghost made an appearance, she looked concerned. “I'm okay.” He lied to her before she could say anything. “Ended up talking to him.” Her shell clicked in shock but he held up a hand to silence her. “Told him it was good to see him, then told him it was time to move on.”

She floated towards him and he held her in his hands, the warm weight of her casing was comforting. “ _Did he recognize you?_ ”

He lay down on the bed and she floated above his head. “I was a hunter dressed as a Warlock, anyone looking is going to notice how strange that was.” He pointed out. “And he knows my Light, I couldn't control it very well when I was there. Just have to hope it's been long enough that he doesn't remember.” He spoke quickly and kept his voice low so any emotion welling up inside him didn't come out, he didn't want her to worry.

She settled down next to his neck and he rest a hand on top of her. It didn't take too much longer for Devrim to come knocking. The knock on the door dragged the pain out of him and replaced it with numbness. He let the man in and closed the door behind him, Devrim put his hands on his arms anxiously. “How are you feeling?” He asked, concern written on his face.

He put his hands on the man's elbows to still his nervous patting. “Like it's over.” He said. “I don't feel anything. Looks like he's going to be fine, now it's my turn to figure out what that's like.”

Devrim's smile was tight. “That does make me wonder if you're on your way off of this sinking ship.” He said softly. “I never got that closure.” He didn't expect to hear so much sorrow in the other man's voice.

Andal stepped a little closer to him, he moved his hands up his arms until he had his palms pressed to the back of his shoulders. The breath he let out shook his ribs and he inhaled again sharply, the numbness was fading as quickly as it came and giving way to pain. “I don't think that's much of an option for me.” He whispered. “This isn't something I get to come back from.”

Devrim closed his eyes and contemplated this. They were mutually using each other to fill the void the loss of their partners left behind. They mutually took and gave the same things. He bowed his head forwards, forehead to forehead, skin to skin. They stood like that for a few long minutes, content with their thoughts and the intimacy of being close to someone else who _understood._ But after a little while, he was moving his hands and pulling him closer. Devrim looked at him and he offered the faintest of smiles, he was beginning to feel like he'd been hung and beaten and left to dry. He closed the gap between them, letting his actions take over his thoughts. He did everything he could to keep his thoughts focused on the person in his arms and the way his mouth opened for him.

The knock at the door didn't even register at first, but Devrim seemed to have no intention to stop kissing him just yet. It wasn't until the second frenzied knock that he pulled away slowly. He sighed, “that will be Suraya.” He said. “I asked her to delay a little longer, I wanted a few minutes alone with you.”

Andal stepped out of Devrim's grasp and opened the door. She came storming in, looking furious. “Well, Ikora knows!” She bit out.

All the softness that had begun to shadow the pain slipped away. “What?” Something cold was trickling down his spine.

“Okay, she doesn't know but she suspects something.” She said in a huff, flopping herself down into the chair beside the table. She slouched against the back of it, putting her elbow on the wood and putting her fingers on her forehead. “She was talking about 'that Warlock's Light signature is familiar' or something. I tried to deter her but neither of you told me what your story was so I couldn't get away with saying anything without blowing your cover.” She sighed again. “I don't think she knows it was you, Andal, but if you aren't careful it won't take her long to figure it out.”

He was sitting down on the bed, elbows on his knees. “It's Ikora.” He started. “She'll know within the week.”

“I hope that whatever you went there for was worth it,” Suraya said unhappily, but she was sitting up in the chair and looking between the two of them. He glanced up at Devrim, he was looking at her. He stood by the door with his arms folded over his chest.

“I didn't have a choice.” He murmured, he looked back at Suraya. “I had to.” He had seen it all with his own eyes, he saw the confirmation, he saw what he needed to fully snuff out the last lingering hope of being Cayde's other half his weary heart had clung to.

Then the girl smirked at him, looking between the two of them. “By the way, what is going on with you two?” Neither of them spoke, he didn't really have much of an answer for her. How could he put this into words? “Of course, don't tell me.” She complained, but she wasn't doing a very good job at selling her complaint. “I saw you two, holding hands and getting all close back there.”

It didn't take long for Suraya to figure it out. Rainy days Andal let his guard down when the Guardian's were scarce, days when they were on the prowl he was careful; he was just glad it rained a lot around here. Devrim had his back on the armrest of the old couch, he had his back to him, his head on his chest, comfortable with Devrim's arm around him and one of his old books in his lap. Resting, barely reading a word, content to just enjoy the closeness of someone else's heat. Suraya had made it a mission to catch them and that was when she finally did. He looked up at her fondly through all the soft cloth covering his face and admired that triumphant grin as she cheered. “I knew it!”

Winter was nearing, it brought mostly ice rain and slush that neither the Fallen below them or the Guardians wanted to trespass through. He was designing weapons, over the months he had finished a number of them and kept trading them to Guardians for more supplies and parts so he could keep making more. They'd started offering more and more Vanguard weapons to trade, some even asked for him to modify their trusted weapons. With his face shrouded by his hood and his voice disguised, he'd become a person Guardians were seeking out. It was a dangerous game he was playing. Devrim was taking shots at the Cabal, testing another weapon he was ready to trade.

The radio next to them buzzed, Devrim shouldered the gun and connected, holding the receiver in his hand.

“ _Devrim_.” It was Ikora and he knew that tone in her voice. Her jaw was clenched, she fighting with herself about something. He sat up from where he had been against the wall and eyed his companion. “ _This is a secure line. No one else can hear this but you and me, and I need you to be_ _completely_ _honest with me._ ”

“What's going on?” The sniper asked, meeting Andal's gaze. Ikora had never contacted them before like this, much less on a private channel.

“ _Don't lie to me._ ” Her voice cracked into a whisper halfway through. When she spoke again her voice was firm. “ _You need to answer this, right now. Are you acquainted with a man named Andal Brask?_ ”

It might have been fear that he felt rippling down his back at the mention of his name, it might have been pure panic but it might have even been relief. They had forewarning that this was going to happen, but he hadn't dared to think of the possibility. Devrim stared at him, he grit his teeth to stop from getting too worked up and stood, he put his hand over Devrim's in a half-hearted hope that he might find some strength in the action - he didn't. He brought the microphone to his mouth and steeled himself, locking eyes with his friend and letting out one more breath. “Ikora.” He said. He didn't mask his voice, he didn't hide it, he knew she would know him. His Ghost was clicking nervously, then she darted into his hood. They heard a noise, then the line went silent. Devrim clasped the side of his face through the hood, he leaned into the touch until he heard footsteps. He turned away from him and looked at the pathway up here.

Ikora stood a few steps away for just a moment, long enough for Andal to pull the cloth down from his mouth and drop his hood and his Ghost floated out and away. Her face shifted, her composure cracked and she was closing the distance between them and throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her too and held onto her tight as he could, closing his eyes. He hadn't expected to feel so much pure relief and maybe even joy at this revelation, he expected she had already gone through her own process of getting her mind wrapped around this, still he grieved for what had to have been a struggle for her. He had missed Ikora more than he could put into words. “Have you been alive this whole time?” She whimpered into his shoulder, he brought his hand to clasp the back of her head, his cheek against her temple.

“No, I came back when the Light did.”

“I knew it was you.” She said, “your Light has always been unique, I trained with you for so long I knew it the second I felt it, but I couldn't be sure.” She pulled away from him but he kept his arms around her, kept his hand on her head with his thumb stroking circles on her skull, she was a piece of his past he thought he had said goodbye to and he never thought it possible that she would seek him out. “I kept tracking communication.” She started. “You were using one of Hawthorne's ships so I knew you had to be here. There are so many voices but one voice from the same origin stood out because it sounded different every _single_ time. I couldn't be sure until I had listened long enough. Then I kept seeing guns in the Tower, unbranded and made with pieces of the enemy. You were written all over them.”

She looked at him with nothing but determination in her eyes. “I'm so sorry, Ikora. I didn't expect to come back, I thought I was gone. I couldn't reveal myself to you, to anyone, not after what I did.”

“I know.” She muttered. “Cayde would..” She broke off, shaking her head, there was no need to say what they both knew. She looked to Devrim, then back at him, he still kept his arms around her. “Andal, I need your help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the delay for this chapter was due to this pairing here. Andal's never been with anyone but Cayde, please don't hate me? 
> 
> Officially the timeline of this whole thing has been brought up to Curse of Osiris. 'From Stars' is going to take a little longer to get there. 
> 
> I drew an idea of what I imagine his gear looks like  
> http://ofadyingstar.tumblr.com/post/168130805409/and-in-the-moonlight-he-started-his-hunt-this
> 
> Thank you for the positive comments I've been really uncertain about this one.

**Author's Note:**

> One little thing I wanted to mention: Ghosts. I love them, I love every part of them. I also love when the Ghosts get handled. There was the exo stranger pushing our Ghost away, Cayde grabbing his and pulling her down, and Osiris holding Sagira in the trailer, then, of course, the heartbreaking scene when we grab our Ghost and pull him over to us. The connection between Guardian and Ghost is undoubtedly a strong one. Guardians touching their Ghosts when they're upset or feeling affectionate seems like a powerful action. 
> 
> As for this, well, let me know what you think. I know this is a little unusual.


End file.
